The Daughters of the Good King
by AranellAeariel
Summary: Aragorn and Arwen produce not only an heir, but three daughters as well. When the introverted, withdrawn Princess Aeariel encounters the Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, she begins to crave more than the comfort she has taken in her books. (Existing daughters given names and faces, rated M for later chapters.)
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. This is the prologue to a "much needed" story about the daughters of Aragorn and Arwen that were not fully described. Later characters will include several members of the Fellowship from the original Trilogy.

Prologue

I, Aeariel, daughter of the King Aragorn and the Queen Arwen, be neither elf nor human, but some blissful purgatory of a minute eternity to spend my days. Not the prince my mother doted upon, nor to be the king my father would be succeeded by, I lazily spent my days wandering the glimmering alabaster halls of the palace at Gondor. The immediate heir to my father's throne was not lusted after, for that would mean the Good King Aragorn would die, else he should make my sibling Eldarion is co-regent.

For years, my life was a mystery to my gaggle of sisters, my mother, even. And while she was loving and perpetually young, I resented her polite distance from me. My brother was the object of her eternal love, a projection of the love she had for my father. I was a daughter, a failed attempt at another flourishing leaf to my father's tree, one that would keep him thriving long after his imminent death.

I bided my days in the cavernous libraries of my home, my mind lost to wander the worlds of old created by the bound, yellowed pages of my father's books of warfare, and my mother's Elvish books of lore. My mind was able to unsheathe my sword to fight alongside my father during his infamous battles, turning quickly when my mind was bored to the silver falls of Rivendell, where the sunlight would paint my cheeks and the dusk contour my spirit. I was a traveler of many lands, although I never had left the sanctuary of the palace. While the dusk and dawn fought and fell each night, for years I roamed like a moth from lands unknown to dreams unspoken.

It was not until my later years that the yearning for true ventures nagged at the edges of my mind. That insatiable craving was aroused when a former companion of my father had entered, gracing our halls with his presence. Never before had I truly longed to abandon the luxuries of home, dismiss the routine lifestyle that would cheerily await me every morning. Or at least I hadn't until our acquaintance was met and tales of wonders fed to my young ears. It was then I hungered for more than words on aged paper could provide me….


	2. Chapter 1 - Siuad

Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. A thoroughly long chapter to introduce the situation and characters. Enjoy and please, leave feedback!

Terms Used:

Siuad – an informal greeting

Na vendui – At last!

Aranell – Princess

Nányë – I am (My name is…)

Mae l'ovannen – "You are well met"

"Siuad"

My eldest sister, Anira, was chatting idly with an unknown prince when I had passed the threshold of the great hall. He faced away from me as my sibling emphatically spoke of some drabbling tale. As I approached, my ears detected the gentle lull of elvish speech, and a grin leapt to my cheeks. While my mother rarely spoke as such to my father, my siblings and I had merely learned it as a courtesy. Through my readings, I had come to learn the language easily. It was a lullaby; it was soothing to hear, echoing like a song against the marble of the palace hall.

My advances caught the eyes of my sister, as she tossed a beam in my direction, introducing my presence to the Prince of Mirkwood. When the young elf turned around, I was astonished by his complex, sharp features – a pair of blue eyes analyzed my visage, and a maddening blush crept over my body. Typically, my personality dictated a cool air of confidence, often mistaken for arrogance, it seemed, so what was it about this elf that made me lose that demeanor I had maintained for so long?

"_Siuad_," I offered, suddenly frightfully aware of my disheveled appearance. My simple, tan tunic was nothing of regale, my hair, messy and unbraided, hung limply over my shoulders. An icy fear also poisoned my veins as I realized my informal blunder. This fear, however, dissipated to some degree as the prince smiled, a pleasant sight, responding in Sindarin. His quick, kind retort caught me off guard, as I had not expected such a respectful response when I myself had not provided one.

"_Na vendui, Aranell Aeariel_." His baritone voice rumbled soothingly, placating the spiteful red tint to my atypically pale face. "_Nányë Legolas_." Offering his name aided some, for I had heard stories of my father's, which often called reference to Legolas. Why had he not introduced himself as a prince, when I myself was called by him "Princess"? Perhaps the title was too burdensome for the elf. Perhaps in the hallowed halls of Gondor's palace, the only prince was my brother, the only king my father. Perhaps he merely omitted the word to save time speaking to me. If the latter were the case, why was there an abhorrently apparent thrill in his greeting?

"_Mae l'ovannen_." My voice felt shaken, a fearful vibrato overcoming my collected intonation. My succinct response offered little respite, for the company of the room remained solely between my sister, the prince, and myself. The intimate troupe I had found myself thrust into seemed anxiously joyful, which confounded me greatly.

I knew Anira would speak as much as she could, being the most talkative of all of Aragorn's daughters. While she had a husband, the son of a Rivendell elf, flirtatiousness still buzzed about her. Perhaps it was the declination of her chin as she chattered, dotingly grazing the hands of her company as she spoke words of fervor and merriment. Something seductive was about her as she told not only great tales of old, but even when she spoke to a handmaiden of which dress she had chosen for the day, as if it bewitched her, or she had bewitched it, to make her appear even more beautiful than the day before. Her earthy hair danced around her similar to a deep river as she struck up another conversation with the visiting prince. Something animated in her seemed to ensnare him as his responses flowed forth effortlessly. His gaze was lost to her eyes, a green caught between a fair brown and the deepest of emeralds. My mother said it was the same shade of green as the leaves that had previously flourished in her home.

As I stood, fingers anxiously tapping against my palm, I heard the prince remark the color with muted ardor. While his dialect thickened, I still drew out the compliment he had provided her – telling her that her eyes were of the Mirkwood, a lovely, rich green. Upon my internal translation, I felt a scorch in not only my cheeks, but my chest. I was certain he was not aware of the extent of my fluency, considering my bumbling greeting from the prior instance, but I withdrew, having gathered he too was under the spell of my sister. Dwarves, elves, men, and hobbits alike were all caught in her wicked spell, entranced by the unknowing enchantress. She had now claimed another victim.

From even my earliest years, I knew I was not as pretty as my sisters. Anira had an insurmountable beauty, her dark hair and charmingly green eyes, the smile that resembled an archer's bow, lips painted a petal pink from birth; they all were her tools and weapons. Her eyes were not large, but shaped pleasingly ovular, as it appeared some cosmetic graced her, when none had. Her timid curls grazed her back in the moments she danced from room to room, silent waterfalls behind an angelic face. My second sister, Narylfiel, was a flame. Her wild, deep hair framed her narrow face and shielded her large, illuminant eyes, whose pigment rivaled Anira's. Her subtle curves were often hidden beneath ruby fabrics, heavy, lustrous, beautiful, as she was. Her husband was man, an irony my father and mother both appreciated. He had been bewitched, as many were, by her rouge lips, naturally beautiful, it seemed.

I, on the other hand, was far from those lovely creatures I called my sisters. I bore little resemblance to either, save for the shades of green that littered my eyes. Their physiques were frail, while mine were the curves of a dwarf woman, merely stretched to fit the height of an elven girl. My hair, a hue too dark to be my mother's or my father's, curled devilishly, a tangled mess that surrounded my face as a mane. My lips were pale, plain, usually hidden behind my raking teeth, a habit my mother had a particular distaste for. My fingers were not silken, as my sisters' were; they were withered, stained black by the raiding of pages from the massive library I resided within. While Anira flaunted the supple curve of her breasts with dresses that dipped low, like birds that kiss the lakes, my dresses shielded me from sight. They were shapeless sheaths of lilacs, lavenders, and browns, with sleeves that were tattered and battered from the climbing of ladders and stairs to reach a book that was just out of my finger's length. My wraps often were misshapen from the coveting of another read I had discovered, a precious gem.

As my mind unwound the ponderous comparisons I made between my sisters and myself, the gilded doors to the great hall opened as a large mouth did, procuring my father - illustrious, glowing, even in his age, my mother, who was hooked on his velvet elbow, and my remaining siblings in procession. Upon the grand entrance, the expression on Legolas' face shifted. His attention was torn away from Anira and unto my father. A smile I had seen him reveal to my sister stained his lips as he drew nearer the king.

"Aragorn, dear friend!" the Mirkwood prince greeted cheerily, embracing my father warmly. My mother released the king's arm to watch the two interact as such. Her smile was graceful, chasing away the shadows I had felt in my heart a moment before.

"_Rodel_ _Arwen_," Legolas bowed his head lightly to my queen mother. His sight was next on my brother, the eldest of us, who stood near as high as my father, and the bright expression of his face took the place of the neutral. I could see, from my sentinel position beside a grand table, his eyes wash over the sight of the boy that had once been nothing more than a speck clambering about the vastness of the palatial home, now grown, resembling the gorgeous blend of both father and mother.

"You are grown," He noted delightedly, giving my brother an embrace that mirrored the one granted to my father just moments before. Never had Eldarion mentioned knowing the Mirkwood prince before, and it astounded me when my brother reciprocated the affection without so much as batting an eye. The warm greetings had now passed, and the tired nostalgia set in between my father and the ageless Prince. It seemed now that Legolas was going through the line of people that had just assaulted his vision, as next he greeted my sister with calm, slow Sindarin.

"_Le_ _suilon_." he purred to Narylfiel, arousing from her a delighted smile. His lips dusted lightly over her knuckles, drawing forth from her a brilliantly blossoming blush on her wintery cheeks. I was glad to see the shade that seemed to haunt her step vanish, if even for one spellbinding moment. Her timid, mousy responses vanished, and a lascivious woman emerged, although still entirely bashfully blushing as if he were the first suitor come to call. A chime of jealousy was struck within me, although I could not place the reasoning. Was it merely because both of my beauteous sisters were married with husbands, while I, the forgotten child, was unmarried? Or was it because both had received the affections of the handsome visitor within our home? I knew not the reason, and wanted very little to discover the answer.

My father swept out an arm, gesturing for the guest to be seated at one any of the myriad of cushioned chairs that littered the room. With a faint nod and a ghost of a smile, the elf graciously sat. My father took seat across from him, descending alarmingly sluggishly into the chair below him. My mother's willowy arms gripped his, aiding him in his plight. With a soft grunt, my father adjusted his position, finally relaxing with a disarming smile flourishing on his lips. As he sat, he offered light conversation to our welcomed visitor. I had expected their idle chatter to be of wars and heroes, but the domestic conversation had led to an acute disappointment, but within a mere blink, that stinging emotion was morphed bitterly into encompassing horror.

"I trust you've made acquaintance with my daughter, Aeariel," King Aragorn reflected. His opaque eyes, encircled with age, hope, and sorrow, met my own, and I could see a fleeting joy within them. His sight whipped back to the young guest before him as he summoned me close with a crooked finger. "She used to read of you in my memoirs, in our library." A chuckle boomed forth from my father, and my head bowed with some alien shame.

"Then I am certain she has read nothing of interest!" Legolas made light reply, permitting me a secretive grin as he did. That very grin haunted me that night, even as I ascended the looming staircase to my chamber and washed clean the day at the basin before turning to bed. His words played as melodies in my ears. A longing settled over me as the wraps of my bed did, and my mind reeled giddily. My father had extended an invitation to the elven prince to take refuge from his travels in the palace, and upon his acceptance, a beam stormed across my features.

As a silence veiled my room, fingers of milky moonlight shepherded me into dream. While darkness veiled the palace, my dreams were painted with the image of a blond elf…


	3. Chapter 2 - Daylight's Truth

Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. I realized after publishing my first chapter that I wrote in a Quenya phrase as Sindarin, which was my error! Now it starts to be less background and more about Aeariel and Legolas interacting. Thank you so much for review(s) and follows and favourite(s)! It means so much to me!

Daylight's Truth

The first strains of pure morning light roused me from a restless sleep – although it was not entirely miserable. I was stirred with some wholly alien notion, something akin to infatuation kept my heart at a steady crescendo until the first hours of the morning. My dreams were riddled with his visage. Every waning moment of night kept a soaring hope in me that I was merely one breath closer to encountering him again. I chastised myself at the girlish giddiness, although I could not rid myself of it entirely. It had poisoned me with its blissful insanity, and I could not allow it to relent.

When I had finally acquiesced to the morning's dull hum, soreness claimed the tender flesh of my body. Sitting erect, I felt the teeth of pain clamping down, leading me to emit a muffled whine. I knew not why this sensation taunted me so, but I dismissed it with the best of my will as I rose from the last touch of sleep.

Disrobing myself of my night sheath, I spent several fleeting moments carefully gazing at my likeness in the silver mirror before me. I scrutinized my shape through narrowed eyes, little more than emerald slits. I inquired bitterly of myself why I did not possess the same willowy shape as my elder sisters, nor the lush beauty of my mother. Why also, I pondered, had out guest prince paid so little mind of me, and spent his affections on both of my wedded sisters?

The flame that engulfed my chest was assuaged, ever so faintly, by the remembrance of the covert grin he had permitted me. It was something so sinful – yet, it was entirely beauteous. The demure mischief in his eyes spoke some informant volume – he did not loathe me, as I had originally considered. I believe it to be the hue in his eyes that had enchanted me, ensnared me, devoured my sanity and left me to wallow in my wounds.

With a sigh, leaden and ponderous, I begrudgingly garbed myself in a viridescent, gauzy shift, turning my deep jade cincture around my waist deftly. While my sisters employed the help of meek handmaidens to robe themselves, I found some distaste in that, and even from my youngest years, I insisted upon clothing myself. While my attire was never as ostentatious as the ensembles my sisters displayed, still, I politely declined my mother's constant supplication of chambermaids.

Hastily exiting my room, I persisted on keeping my eyes inspecting only the light as it painted the ivory floor. My mind ruminated on the different scenarios in which I could be at the prince's disposal as I strode down the endless hall, barely detecting the wide steps that rapidly approached.

Within a blinding instance, I had met harsh collision with the one who had bedeviled my every thought. Fearfully, I elevated my gaze to the countenance of our lodger.

"_Goheno nin, aranell_…" He pardoned breathily, his slate eyes expanding. His remorse sanctioned the minutest fraction of satisfaction within me. I smiled dulcetly, giving a moderate chortle.

My fluid response provided him forgiveness for a blunder that was entirely my own. His enflamed cheeks became pallid once more, and he offered his company to my destination.

"I fear I go nowhere of interest," I mumbled, suddenly deflating, losing the coquettish ruse I had adopted, "I merely go to our hall of books."

It was a sanctuary to me, eternally my home, if nowhere else was. The senescent pages felt as cloth beneath my trifling fingers, edges tawny and rented. The tomes were my truest companions, steadfast and honest.

"I have heard it is quite tremendous. I should very much like to see it." He riposted with a broad smirk. His cool rejoin astounded me – did this mean he had longed for my company? The very question tumbled through my mind, the answer swimming before my eyes. Legolas and myself walked abreast, our formalities displayed by the distance between our pacing legs.

The young _ernil_ spoke little until the doors to the library loomed before us. Pressing my palm to the cool port, the door swung open with no trepidation, no moaning creaks – but instead with a gasp of air, stupefied by the blond visitant. I was powerless but to behold in the scores of treatise that encompassed the room. While it was commonplace for me, I could detect in Legolas' eyes the awestruck astonishment.

"It has been my home for many years…" I explained languidly, fingers fondly kissing the faces of the volumes that had guided me for most of my existence. The room was virgin to most all visitors, for I was the only one who went in or came out.

"It is grander than I had thought…" He noted, a faint tug on the edges of his lips was detected. His eyes analyzed the room, decidedly with a sense of wonder.

"It houses far more lives than any village." I offered demurely. This was no lie. Each anthology detailed the lives of a dizzying amount of creatures, some elven, some man, some dwarf, some even hobbit. I felt something akin to motherhood as I read, each name was one of my children, and I would be their guard until their tales were finished.

"Where do these come from?" He pried gently. His question caused me to simper, some young memory sending me reeling with recollection and a distant exuberance.

"They are my mother's, they are my father's, they are discarded gifts to my sisters, some wedding, some of their coming of age, some gifts from faceless suitors. They are my brother's, for he has no desire to read their passages, they are found and exchanged…" I could not recall the origin of many of the titles, but I knew them all so intimately, it mattered little where they came from.

"Might I see the ones you are most fond of?" He requested, tender voice infecting me. His inquiry caught me off guard, for I had not expected him to take such vehement interest in my pastimes. It was a difficult question, indeed, but standing agape as I did not assist in procuring an answer any more rapidly.

Choking on my ghosted words, I tapped a tapered finger on the leather cover of a newer story, ascertaining my preference with silence and wide eyes. I informed him in hurried Sindarin that this was a book of lore that had once been my mother's, that it had been my childhood companion.

Taking an emboldened step towards me, his hand too rested atop the aged face, beside mine the same way he and I had been walking before. His response was flaxen, hypnotic, beautiful.

"Perhaps we could discuss such literature in the future." He proposed, expression tender. I had once wandered into a hall in the East Wing of the palace, lost with hopeless abandon. His steel-blue eyes sent that nostalgia flooding back to me, overwhelming me, nearly drawing me to my knees as I felt myself more and more submitted to him.

"Perhaps." I retorted succinctly, terrified I would permit myself far too many words to him. My hair kissed my back and shoulders as I turned on my bare heels. My glance fell over my shoulder as I gave my parting words. "I expect I shall see you this evening, _cund _Legolas." I murmured coyly, fixating my eyes on the path before me now as I managed to pry myself from his sight. I had never displayed such icy ire before, nor had I barricaded myself from my true emotions as such. I held myself to be entirely realistic, but I was no fool. Love was present, as I could see between my Queen mother and my father, but silly girl's enamored fantasies left a bitter taste on my tongue.

His rumbling offer echoed as a soft melody in my head, staining my cheeks a rouge until supper that very evening.


	4. Chapter 3 - When the World Trembles

Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. This is not the final chapter, and you'll notice more Grelvish/Sindarin phrases, which HAVE A SURPRISE MEANING! I'm SO sorry that it's taken me such a long time to update, I've just been so overwhelmed recently! Please keep the reviews, likes, and follows coming, they mean the world to me!

When the World Trembles

I would have been content to remain nestled within my world of raven and ivory, had it not been for the timid cry of a servant hailing me to the evening meal. My mind, lost and numbed, had shut out the descending of the sun, neglecting to notice how quickly the day had swept by. I had secluded myself in my chamber, barring the door to the world that passed hour after hour. But I could not return to that world. In that world, lovely princes gave doting smiles, and young maidens returned private whispers with trepidation. I rebuffed that world, gratified in my sanctuary of words where castles of paper eagerly resided.

I was alarmingly aware of the reality that, should I attend supper, I would be forced to see him again. And while the most suppressed faction of me whooped with happiness to know that he may perhaps indulge me with conversation, I could not deny that it submerged me entirely in some bizarre fright. What if he once again dismissed me to prattle on with my siblings? What if I no longer was the object of his degree of attention? I certainly held none of the seductive eloquence of my sister, Anira, nor the fierce intellect of Narylfiel, so what purpose had he to commit himself to such an engagement?

When the resounding beckoning grew louder, I was forced out of my deep contemplation. I ran trembling hands over my wrinkled sheath, rising. For a moment, a blinding pain seared through my skull, and I could do little but to give a soft cry, the pain simply too severe in that moment. I reached for something, something that tethered me to where I stood, so the horrid sensation did not steal me completely. In the moment when my mind reeled, I recalled a similar moment from my childhood years, when my mother permitted me a bitter scowl as she procured a blaming remark on my constant reading. For years, I had resented that fading memory, and now it was my tether. What a silly notion – my books hurting me? They were my only companions.

This notion now stoking some great fire within my demeanor, I tore myself from the room, my strides brisk as my tapered legs led me to the Great Hall where the court would be dining with our guest. I could hear the rouge-cheeked laughter of drunkenness and the sober rebuttals that was the music of my home. Slurred, drawled phrases swung from the rafters, With a patient nod towards the sentinel astride the door, I permitted myself respite as I closed my leaden eyelids and released a soothing exhale.

The gilded doors parted, and for a moment that slipped by in a languid instance, I pictured the elvish guest standing as my feet cautiously crossed the threshold, his steps hurriedly approaching me, an unspoken, thrilled glow a halo around him as he extended a slender hand to mine, then the room darkening, wheeling, spinning... the gleaming marble kissing my cheek and body, crudely spilled to the ground.

Voices reached a cacophonous hysteria as they swirled around me, ghost hands lifting me with trepidation, manic questions and hushed responses flung back and forth, battling for indulgence. The sweet caressing of a passing breeze blanketed me, and for a moment I had wondered where my dulcet fantasy ended and my brutal reality began. My sight was limited to milky light when my eyes fluttered open even to some degree, and a pressure on my body declared that I was cradled by some tender grasp. Such a warmth was so dizzyingly foreign, my mind was a flurry of reeling thoughts, pondering who possibly was holding me as a babe, and why. I could hardly recall a day, even in the days of my youth, when even my father would cup my slight form in his arms and bear me to the gargantuan creature of downy sheets and monstrous pillows. I often walked amongst hallways ghosted with shadow, where curtains of inky blackness were mounted as if death itself had touched the palace.

The very sensation I had craved for innumerable years, the feeling of a ginger placement upon an eager bed, now overwhelmed me. I took some delight in knowing that, although it felt many years delayed, some rite of passage had now been performed. I could not revel in this moment, however, as the frenzied squawks of panic reached a deafening crescendo. Faces swam, blurred by a sea of light before me, their features now distorted, unrecognizable – even frightening. I could detect no voice – except for that of a roaring baritone, commanding the room be cleared.

Was I ill? I wondered, querying whether or not this was all an elaborate, fevered fantasy. This controversial reverie was shattered as a pressure on the bed beside me alerted me to a presence. A sweet, musky scent that permeated my lungs, and subtly identified my companion. The prince now took a place abreast, his lithe fingers whispering across my forehead and down to the length of my willowy neck. My eyes lolled for a moment before focusing with unyielding strain on his pale visage. My mouth felt as if I had swallowed sand, grains trailed down my throat, grit stole the moisture from my lips, and the words came as the cry of an infant.

"_Man?_" I whimpered softly. "What… what has happened?" A weakness now paralyzed me, and the frantic cloud that settled over the room infected my spirit. My body could hardly afford to move, but I gave a grunt as I perched on my crooked elbows. A frighteningly somber expression resided among his features as his languid voice illustrated a scene in which my eyes shut and I had fallen down the alabaster stairs of the dining hall.

"And… you have brought me back to my chamber?" My eyebrows cocked faintly, and the smile that bloomed informed me that he had detected the curiosity intertwined in my inquiry. I could not help but to feel the soft surge of alien desire as his pale smile illuminated his features silently.

"_Thand._" He murmured, his eyes glowing with the same grin that stained his lips. It was a lovely aura around him that aroused from me further interrogation. The nearly seductive juxtaposition of his cool, genuine collectiveness paired with my frantic confusion gave me some reason to relent my grasp on hysteria.

"_Am man theled?_" I demanded demurely, eyes lost on his beauteous visage. In the fluid moment between my the escape of my question and his choked response, his body drew a mere breath closer, and his gaze now swallowed me whole. My cheeks stung as I recognized this, but I was a helpless victim to the power of his icy eyes. I little desired reasoning, as I could not deny that it planted within me some nameless joy, however, speaking to him granted me another kind of happiness – the sort that gave way to a fluttering heart, restless, like the wings of birds.

"_Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni_," he reasoned slowly, his resonating bass growing husky, strained, as if he were forcing the words in lieu of some taboo action. His voice dripped with something covert, something he would not disclose to me. Those petty moments I spent considering the secrets buried within his tone, I had been blindly ignorant of what he had revealed to me. In his native tongue, he had confessed some pure, soaring adoration of me. And as a fire within me rouged my cheeks, his hands clasped over mine.

" _Cund _Legolas…"


	5. Chapter 4 - Words Fail the Eager Mind

Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. This is not the final chapter either! PLEASE keep the reviews, follows, and likes coming, they mean the WORLD to me!

Words Fail the Eager Mind

The unbearable heat was the villain which pulled me out of my restless slumber. I rose sharply to discover the satin covers haphazardly strewn to the floor which grinned up at me, blind and drunken with moonlight. A numbness blanketed my shoulders, and curiously I turned my eyes to the uninhabited half of my bed. A faint indentation scarred my bedside, and my mind screeched to recall the moment when I had drifted off with the prince, but it eluded me as smoke eludes a groping hand.

As I began to remove myself from the sheets, tangled like vines and dampened with my own fearful sweat, a guiding word came from the vicinity of the grand, rich oak bookshelf which now resided in shade.

"Please, _Aranell_, do not strain yourself." He advised coolly, his light steps bringing him once again to be a sentinel at my bedside. My jaw hung agape as I was helpless but to glance up at the prince, his illuminant eyes aflame in the shadow of dusk. His sight drew shapes on my body, casting sweet, silent spells which lulled me into some pacification. I relented some, finding some desired restfulness settling over me as my form fell to the bed.

"What reason have you to be in my chamber at this hour of the night?" I drew slowly. My interest now fully aroused, I dismissed my evident fatigue hurriedly and permitted him a steady, unyielding gaze. My cheeks scorched, as I knew this was more improper than it was generous. Should even a soul be alerted as to his presence in my bedchamber, talk would spread as wildfire. Awaiting his response was as waiting for the sun to tire of the day and retire to night, it lasted for far too long. All the while, a smirk crossed his gentle lips, and his opaque eyes were removed from me.

"You were hurt, _Aranell_. Any wounded person, especially the daughter of my dearest of companions, becomes my only concern, if that is alright with you." He offered collectedly. More words burbled beneath his formal façade, but they had not yet collected enough fervor to erupt quite yet. Prodding became quite an amusing game, as my new favorite past-time would become watching his features change like a storm as each question circled in his mind.

"Is that so? Or is it because you quite find yourself devoted to me?" I jested airily, teeth clamping on the inside of my cheek, warning me not to permit him a grin, should he not take me seriously enough. This question did not elicit the response I had foreseen – no – it was much different. At that moment, his brows knit furiously, he lowered himself to be seated to peer into my childish expression, and his fingers wisped across the high bones of my cheeks.

"_Aranell_," he begged softly, his expression both tender and frightened, "do you truly not recall?" Some lost plea rippled in his voice, shaking me desperately to simply remember what it was he was alluding to. The events that transpired prior to my waking were still yet to have bloomed, they were closed tightly, although I was certain with some coercion they would bud beautifully to a garden of precious memories.

"_Cund _Legolas," I gave a distraught, nervous laugh, "I fell, did I not? Perhaps I… hit my head. I do not recall…" Recall what, exactly? Had he professed some love to me? I wanted to scoff at myself for that notion. Surely it was not something as simple, as lovely as that? The Prince was courteous to me, he was certainly extending some warm thanks to my family for allowing him to reside in the palace to rest, but could he have felt something more for me, some sort of primal attraction like the callers feel for Anira? "_Nan hîr_. _Nan penorven._" I concluded briefly. I wanted some excuse, some logical reason as to why I could not recall something that was evidently so pivotal in our young acquaintance.

"Of course you are…" He nodded curtly, as if my loss of memory had cut some deep place within him, "however, perhaps you would feel well enough for a walk along the palace with me? Flowing blood will do you well." His kind advice would never be challenged by me, as I knew he was older than I by many years, and wiser than I by many lives.

"_Thand, min…_" I considered softly, wishing I could counter his reasoning. I would do little to deny him, and that realization taunted me as I once again began to rise from the warm grasp of my bed. But what? I questioned. What could I have possibly said that would have reasoned well enough against him? I craved nothing as much as the desire to slip silently along the shadows astride the prince, our bodies dancing in the seductive shade of night. The mask of thought must have been an ostentatious one, as he probed gently at what it was that consumed my mind.

"_Man? Man cenich?_" He descended, coming to a reverent kneel before me. The cool, clay-like feeling of his hands clasped around mine drew a delicious shiver from my spine. What did I see? I saw him, milky-blond hair flashing as he slips along the moon-drenched corridors, his captivating grin holding me in some euphoric paralysis…

"Nothing…. I… I was just wondering if one could see the moon from the courtyard gardens to-night." I must have lied effectively, as his wondrous smile returned in blossom.

"Perhaps we should see, _Aranell_ Aeariel." His offer released a generous flurry of silver-winged butterflies into my stomach and throat, dancing in my chest. The sanitary formality of using my title stunned me faintly, but I ignored it, letting the bliss of our closeness overwhelm the feeling. My ivory hands grasped the sinew of his arm as he escorted me to the engraved door.

"_Cund_ Legolas, I have been meaning to ask of you, why have you come here to my father's palace?" I challenged softly. My head turned to him as we crept swiftly along the colossal passage. The question resonated in the emptiness, glaring back at us as we moved along.

His chuckle embraced the curves of the hall and reverberated against my skin. He glanced at me, a delectable smile on his lips. "To see your father. He has been my companion for many years. And…" he paused cruelly, leaving me on the precipice of his words, "to see how his children had grown. His daughters, I heard, were particularly beautiful."

A sharp wound burst in my chest, slaughtering the delicate butterflies in my heart.

"My sisters, no doubt?" I inquired curtly. I cared little for my manners, I was aflame with a sudden hatred for the women I called my siblings.

A sudden, raucous laughter split forth from his lips. I had always heard the Prince was of a collected demeanor, and rarely permitted more than a wide smile. His outburst astounded me, leaving me silent.

"_Aranell_, permit me to tell you a story." He offered, guiding our steps, subtly losing momentum, to the gardens, drenched in the sweet, pale veil of moonlight. Upon my nod, he continued. "As I travelled this place, chasing horizons, following storms, and all without a care of what I left behind, save for the memories of my companions, fallen or not." A sullen look stormed his eyes for a brief moment, and I raked my teeth across my lip as I bade him to continue.

"One night, one particularly moonless night, I lodged with a companion of mine by the name of Gimli. The dwarf had been at my side for many of my excursions, and on this particular night, we permitted ourselves a moment to discuss the news of our companions of old. He was quick to discuss your father – particularly the declining of his health." I glanced at the pebbled-walk now underfoot, afraid to accept that truth.

"He had informed me that Queen Arwen had produced several daughters, renowned for their insurmountable beauty. I had believed there to be only two, but it was then he told me of the third daughter. One who was intelligent, kindly, pure of heart, as well as unearthly beautiful. I had to know who this woman was. I admit, while seeing your father was not a ruse, I had every intention of coming to your acquaintance. For far too long, I traversed, my determination unwavering. For every town and inn I passed through, words of the Good King's daughters smoldered on the lips of every patron, and for nights chasing nights, my mind was lost to this girl I had never before seen – a girl with hair as inky as the night sky, and eyes as green as the wood."

My mind numbed, and I had become blissfully unaware of our presence in among the meekly kempt flowers and the bowing fingers of treetops. Delicately, I placed myself at the roots of an ambitious tree, and extended a silent invitation.

"_Cund_ Legolas… Is this true?" I could scarcely fathom that I was his motivation for returning to the hallowed halls of my father's palace.

I needed not to fret long, as my shallow question was answered as his generous hand masked my jaw, and his petal-lips collided with mine. It was then that every measurement of time could not catch us, we were beyond that, and my mind reeled with a boundless joy.

It was also that moment that a roaring voice called my name.


End file.
